“He would have accepted the guarantee,” echoed I, without the remotest idea of what the words could mean.
“Oh, Madré de Dios, what an unhappy mischance is this! Is it yet too late? Alas! the breeze is freshening,—the sloop is already sinking beyond the horizon; to overtake her would be impossible! And you say that the guarantee would have been accepted?”
“You may rely upon it,” said I, the more confidently as I saw that the ship was far beyond the chance of pursuit.
“What a benefactor to this country you might have been, Señhor, had you done us this service!” cried the banker, with enthusiasm.
“Well, it is too late to think of it now,” said I, rather captiously; for I began to be worried with the mystification.
“Of course, for the present it is too late; but when you arrive in Europe, Señhor Condé, when you are once more in the land where your natural influence holds sway, may we entertain the hope that you will regard our case with the same favorable eyes?”
“Yes, yes,” said I, with impatience, “if I see no reason to change my opinions.”
“Upon the subject of the original loan there can be no doubt, Señhor Condé.”
“Perhaps not,” said I; “but these are questions I must decline entering upon. You will yourself perceive that any discussion of them would be inconvenient and indiscreet.”
The diplomatic reserve of this answer checked the warmth of his importunity, and he bashfully withdrew, leaving me to the undisturbed consideration of my own thoughts.